Marking the second anniversary of Katrina—part four

In every part of society we have rules. And those rules extend even into the middle of a tragedy. There is a pecking order. A definite distinction between us and them.

At our makeshift Winn-Dixie camp we had a great amount of dog food, cat food, bird seed, soaps and shampoos, used clothing and non-perishable foods that had been donated. Several of the local people would come over to get some of our supplies. We gladly gave them whatever they wanted. We actually kept a little mountain of cardboard boxes for just that purpose.

The first day I was at Winn-Dixie, an elderly woman showed up with her bedraggled pekingese by her side, to get some supplies. I happened to be the person who was closest so we picked out the things she needed together.

She was a nice gal, grateful for every item that went in to her box. After we had the essentials, we found some treats for her old doggie. We talked about dogs and a cat she had years ago as a child. We giggled over what she would look like in a blue shirt that was quite obviously going to be way too big for her, but it was the only woman’s shirt in the pile that day. She was a cutie, and I liked her a whole bunch.

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After she left, two of the people who had been around the camp since the beginning came over to talk to me. “That woman that was just here? She’s homeless,” they told me.

I nodded, sighing over her loss. Most everyone I met these days was homeless.

“No. We mean she was homeless before Katrina,” they said.

Now I really sighed. Her life should have been spent sitting in a house with white lace doilies everywhere. What a shame. Maybe she will get some help now and be able to get the lace doilies after all.

The girls saw my face and they began to talk to me in earnest. “She’s just using Katrina.”

“She’s using you.”

“She comes every day and gets a box of stuff.”

“Yeah, she’s probably selling the stuff we give to her.”

“I wouldn’t doubt she needs the money,” I said, “but why would anyone buy something from her when they could come here and get it for free?” That made sense to me but they seemed to think that I needed to be talked to in a voice that is usually reserved for children.

“She was homeless before. She knows how to get things for nothing.”

I said, “But there isn’t anywhere to get things for nothing. The agencies are all gone. She is on the same level as everyone else right now. We are here to help everyone. Why wouldn’t we want to help her, too? “

It was their turn to sigh. “Don’t encourage her,” they told me.

I walked away.

We had all left our homes to come to the aid of the victims of Katrina. Louise was as much a victim as everyone else. But Louise had kept her little doggie with her, even in her own homeless state, turning down places to stay where animals weren’t welcome.

And here we were faced with a whole camp full of animals that had been left behind by people who had homes. And cars. And money. And respect. All that was needed was to look around to see that Louise was a person who should be encouraged.

And I did encourage her.

Louise and Applesauce, her bedraggled doggie, came to the camp to look me up so we could talk and laugh and be silly in the middle of all the horror for a half hour every day while I was in Winn-Dixie.

Sometimes she didn’t even bother to put anything in her empty cardboard box because Louise just wanted a friend who saw her as an equal more than she wanted any of our stupid stuff.

Janet Marie Good is a wife, a mom, a gram, a member of the local writing group Works in Progress and an animal nut. To send high praise, indeed, you may reach her at jimnjanet@verizon.com, any time of the day or night. No complaints will be accepted at this time.